


I want him back ~

by duchessofclarence



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:11:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchessofclarence/pseuds/duchessofclarence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabel's reaction to the death of her first baby on the ship to Calais.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I want him back ~

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if many of you are aware; but I actually RP as Isabel Neville in a community on tumblr and therefore I felt as if I should share some of my drabbles and prompts with all of you who do not have tumblr / do not follow me. This is a short drabble about Isabel's reaction to the death of her child; some historical aspects may be inaccurate as Isabel's first child was reported to have been a girl but this was written merely for feels. Enjoy!

It was almost as if time had stood still. It could have been minutes or hours. The neat and intricate braid that had been in her hair had loosened now so that dishevelled curls billowed over her shoulder and poured down her chest. A few deserted strands fell upon his inanimate little hand as she held him in her arms; she waited for her son to take a fistful of her locks into his tiny palm but instead he remained as still as the water. The storm had passed now and left devastation in its wake – whilst the men on deck worried about the fact that there would not be a crown upon a man’s head, a mother laid below with a dead child nestled in her trembling arms. It is time now, her lady mother would continue to murmur in her ear as she tried to pry the unmoving baby from its mother. It wasn’t custom that many mothers would want to look upon the face of their dead child, but Isabel insisted that she must see him – her son. Oh, how beautiful he was. 

He had come much too soon, and now he did not breathe at all. Isabel allowed her hand to trace over the mere contours of his little facial features; his skin was ashen now and his eyes remained closed, as if he were in peaceful slumber, with dark lashes that seemed to brush his pallid cheeks. Her hand ghosted over his tiny button nose and beautiful rose-tinted lips that would never move; she would never hear him cry nor hear his first words emit from that sweet little mouth. He would never call her mother. Isabel could feel the familiar wetness upon her flushed cheeks as she ran the back of her hand over the soft tuft of dark hair upon his tiny head. It is time now, her mother noted once more as she put her hand upon her eldest daughter’s shoulder. 

Isabel shook her head. No. How could she part with him? “I cannot do it, mother,” her tone was laced with utter sadness as she tore her desperate gaze away from her child to look into blue orbs of sheer sympathy. The pain of labour seemed far away now, and she almost wished that she could do it all over if she could save her dearest baby. Her sister stood on the other side of the room in silence; her hands now cleansed from blood but the evidence of her deed still staining the white sleeves of her dress. The three women were silent for some time, until Isabel spoke once more. “How can I live now, mama? How can I live knowing that I was supposed to bring him into this world and protect him and I failed and he is…dead,” she cried, her tears becoming endless. “I cannot continue breathing if I won’t see his face each day!” Her mother’s hand was in her hair within an instant as she smoothed out the unkempt curls; Anne de Beauchamp was sometimes considered strict or harsh in her treatment of the girls; but only as a mechanism to make them stronger each day. She could not watch as her daughter’s heart broke in front of her, however, and would continue to break until she perished. 

“It is not a pain that you will become accustomed to, my darling Isabella, but it is one that you must live with. I have lost many a child, but God has graced me with you and your sister and for that I must be thankful,” her lady mother’s voice was almost musical when she murmured in such soft tones and Isabel automatically sunk into her embrace. It is time now; her mother did not have to say it this time. Isabel knew. She leant down to press a delicate kiss upon her son’s alabaster brow and could feel her own salty tears fall upon his head as if she were christening him with her mere love and affection. Her mother was gentle as she removed the baby from Isabel’s reach, taking the blanket that was swaddled around him and covering his little face. Anne was there to take her mother’s place next to Isabel and clutched onto her sister’s trembling hand as her nephew was taken from the room. Isabel wondered if there would be a mass said for him or if her mother would show her baby son to her father or her husband; would they want to see her beautiful boy now that he was dead and gone from this world? No, she assumed that he would only be of importance if he was breathing and moving in her arms in that moment ~ instead he didn’t even have a chance to gaze upon his mother. 

Isabel and Anne seemed to sit in silence; she did not know for how long. I cannot do it, she would murmur over and over as her sister held onto her for dear life. The eldest Neville shook with involuntary tremors that seemed to almost consume her; her maternal instinct was to not let her child out of her sight and he was nowhere to be seen. Each fibre of her being told her to take back her baby; her sweet, beautiful baby. A few more moments passed before she finally found the strength to rise from the bed: her petite form seared with absolute pain as each step seemed to tear through her limbs. Isabel was unsteady on her feet as she fumbled around for something to hold each time she moved forward with the gentle rock of the boat. “Please, Issy, sit back down!” Anne pleaded behind her as she warily followed her sister out of the cabin. It was almost as if some other element moved her as she climbed the steps until she was on deck with her bare feet cold upon the wet floorboards. The bitter wind whipped at her nightgown as she followed the small crowd that had gathered at the stern of the ship. 

“Isabel, please come back!” Anne cried out as the disoriented new mother stumbled towards the crew. The men dispersed immediately as she came into sight in the most unabashed attire and seemed to wander away from the scene sadly. A hand was upon her elbow, but she did not look back to see that it was the firm grasp of her father. “Come now, Isabel, some prayers have been said for the child, now you must return below,” his voice was gruff and there was a certain coldness about his countenance in that moment. She tore her arm away from him; concentrating only on the fact that her baby was nowhere in sight. “I want him back!” she cried out, her feed unsteadily moving her towards the side of the boat. Isabel’s frozen hands were upon the thick rope as she gazed overboard and into the calmness of the wide sea; he was gone. There was but one hint that he had ever been there, and that was the white blanket that she could see billowing beneath the surface of the icy waves. “I want him back…” 

Her husband reached out to her in a vague attempt to calm her, but it only seemed to serve her with more venom and sadness; she drew herself away from him as she knelt to the floor of the main deck with her hands still clutching onto the rope. There seemed to be no sobs escaping from her but still she cried for a moment: silent tears that streamed down her crimson cheeks as she let the sea water spray onto her warm skin. Leave her for a moment, she heard her mother say from behind. Anne moved forward to drape furs over her trembling sister’s shoulders and then retreated with the Neville’s so that Isabel could have a moment on her own. She held onto the rope so tightly that she could feel her knuckles turn white with the pressure. There was silence, and then more silence. Isabel opened her mouth to scream ~ she may have screamed, but she could hear nothing but silence and then more and more silence.


End file.
